Good Fun
by Orilynn
Summary: It's a usual Saturday for the N-Team, and Tropy is wondering why he's wearing ladies' underwear. Humorous oneshot


It had been a usual Saturday. A few films had been watched, and some scenes were to be re-enacted. Of course, it never seemed to bother anyone. However, this particular scene had Tropy blushing all shades of purple. He just had to suggest they watch one of his favourites, for once...

He had never been one for very revealing outfits. He was a very modest person. He was that kind of person to protest these things enthusiastically, ending up on his knees pleading. Yes, he was an 'I-don't-want-to-wear-ladies-lingerie' kind of guy. Only when his job security was threatened did he finally agree to it. Nefarious was a very strange man.

Corext always found something about seemed rather odd, though couldn't ever seem to put his finger on it. Except for now, of course. He could have placed his finger anywhere on the poor, cowering, unsanitarily (if that was even a word, though he didn't care) poorly dressed scientist before him. In fact, he very much liked his idea to perform this scene.

They could hear their colleagues gathering around on the other side of curtain to watch their performance. Cortex began to feel nervous, as always. He always feared he would choke up, ruin his rep with the minions.

Tropy felt like he was going to vomit. Not only was his own appearance enough to make a grown man cry, but Cortex's was somehow worse. And yet, they both were not to be compared to Brio. He wanted to rip his own eyes out. Stick a fork in them. Melt them with a blow torch. Anything to prevent them from taking him in. No one had talked to him yet in the costume error. He hoped he wasn't the only one who had noticed.

N-Gin almost looked cute. Of course, Tropy would have to rip his brain out later and slap it for thinking such things. But he did. With his almost-bald cap, he looked like the henchman he should be. He was tickling himself with his feather duster, laughing up a storm. Tiny stood over him, clad in his ridiculous red-haired wig and maid's dress, conversing with Uka Uka, who wore a short, red-haired wig and a sparkly top hat. How he had been dragged into the madness, no one would ever know.

A signal from Cortex alerted there would be no more than a minute before show time. He finally managed to get his wig on. He had an apparent amount of difficulty walking about in his little skirt and high-healed shoes. He began to practice speaking in his high-pitched voice, spurting out a random line from time to time, his voice shaky, pitch varying with each go. Tropy knew Cortex cared a little too much about these little performances to let the fact that he made an awful girl- or even that he simply couldn't act -get him down.

A gasp rang out as Brio finally removed his robe, to reveal nothing but his undergarments. All of a sudden, everyone was shouting about how he was supposed to have remained dressed for the scene. He looked quite embarrassed.

Tropy made his way over to the still struggling Cortex, once again feeling extremely nervous, and somewhat uncomfortable. "Cortex, are you sure I can't keep my coat on for the scene? Just think about your poor niece, sitting in the audience..."

"I want to be as accurate as possible, in order to honour such perfection! Besides, it's nothing we haven't seen before. Are you really unaware of your sleepwalking? Brio made a calendar, which is still hanging in the the kitchen, by the way, of you in your 'pyjamas'." He added air quotes on the last word. Everyone knew Tropy had none.

"Wha-"

"Places everyone!"

Tropy made one last adjustment to his curly wig and walked off stage, watching the others take front stage. He climbed up into the lighting stage, to listen intently for his cue. Of course, a lot of the diologue was completely off, with plenty of hesitation. But what could one expect from a thirty minute production?

And finally, his cue came. He was slowly being lowered on-stage in a large metal box by a group of penguins. Once again, he wondered how on earth these things happened to him.

"How d'you do, I see you've met my faithful handyman  
He's just a little brought down because when you knocked  
He thought you were the candyman.  
Don't get strung out by the way that I look,  
Don't judge a book by its cover  
I'm not much of a man by the light of day,  
But by night I'm one hell of a lover."

He through off his fur coat, and, now visible to the audience, a couple cat-calls came as expected. With the whistling came a blush. He didn't want to think about how much of that full-body flush of dark purple could be seen by the viewers. His stomach did one final summersault before he joined in with the music.

"I'm just a Sweet Transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania."

One last time, the Frank-N-Furter look-alike thought to himself, _How in the name of Tim Curry do I allow myself to get dragged into these shenanigans?_ The answer that came immediately after made him smile to himself.  
_  
__Because it's damn good fun._


End file.
